Across the compound, Pappy walked down to the cable car. His guests had arrived. He looked around. The night was dark and secretive, as secretive as his thoughts. The clouds separated momentarily, and a slice of silvery moon could be seen before the cover slid back into place. He wondered if it would rain during the night. Not that it mattered.

It was a quiet night, except for the sound of the crickets and the screech the cable car was making on its ascent. He paced and fired up his second cigarette of the day. He knew he wouldn’t enjoy the decadent vice the way he normally did when he was with Alpha, but he did it anyway. Later he would give the big dog his treat.

The car came to a stop. Pappy stood aside until all four of his guests exited the car. Then he stepped forward, his hand extended. The silent greeting over, he started off, the men trailing behind him.

Pappy was pleased to see that his father had set out the buffet in the conference room, which was unusually beautiful in such a rustic setting. The oak table and matching, comfortable club chairs sat in the center of the room. Mountain scenes painted by Kyros hung on the walls in ornate frames. Fragrant, fresh flowers from his father’s garden graced one of the sideboards. The carpeting was hunter green, two shades darker than the nubby material on the chairs. Earth-tone draperies were drawn, and soft overhead lighting cast a mellow glow over the entire room. The portable bar in the corner held a silver ice bucket, two brands of scotch, and two brands of Kentucky bourbon.

Pappy made the drinks while the four men filled their plates with shiitake mushrooms with fresh goat cheese, sushi, tenderloin, and lobster ravioli. Pappy knew all four of the men had hearty appetites. And each liked his whiskey neat with one ice cube.

As the men ate and drank from the fine china and exquisite crystal, they made small talk about the weather, the new training class, his father’s garden, and the latest movies.

Pappy knew them almost as well as he knew his own father. He knew how rich they were, to the penny. He also knew where the money came from, where they reported each day, where they lived, and why they were there. Each man was tall, distinguished, immaculately dressed and shod. They were pillars of their communities and their international governments. They were also old. Older than his father. In Pappy’s eyes they were vigilantes with an unlimited supply of money and a Rolodex the White House or MI6 would envy. At least one of them had the ear of the president and every politician in the nation’s capital.